


Cold Chaos

by TheLesbianHeadcrab



Category: Dark Souls I
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fluffy Moments, Fluffy Smut, Fluffy Tails, Gay Lemonade, How does Sex?, Hurt/Comfort, Mid-Coitus Meltdown, Porn With Plot, Refferenced Oviposition, Size Difference, Vaginal Fisting, brief PTSD, potential body horror, virgins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11505873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLesbianHeadcrab/pseuds/TheLesbianHeadcrab
Summary: “Sugar and raw fruit?” Quelaag mused.“Mine eyes spied men brewing a drink from these.” She said, “Mine tongue is virgin to its taste. I wished to try it with thee.”Quelaag held back a smirk. She found the lordly speech of Anor Londo verbose and pretentious… but Priscilla was very cute when she slipped into it.





	Cold Chaos

The last sprites of Humanity vanished, Quelaag watching intently as the scraps of life soaked into her sister’s pale, sickly flesh with a faint whistling sound. Quelaan uttered a shallow sigh as the pain was temporarily numbed, her head gently rocking with each hoarse breath as she slept.

The Daughter of Chaos moved as quietly as the sharpened chitin on her legs would allow as she crept from the chamber, hesitant to leave at first. Quelaag imagined her sister enjoyed pleasant dreams on the rare occasions the crushing pain of her sickness subsided; the witch would be delighted if not for the nagging fear Quelaan would never wake again.

Quelaag drifted past the egg sacs on the wall as she departed her sister’s quarters and ascended the narrow spiral stairs of the bell tower. She’d stopped fussing over their condition long ago, as it only gave her conniptions. Some were hatched, many were stillborn; a few were deformed as they were packed into whatever nooks Quelaag could find, their fate uncertain as the witch and her roster of servants kept a trickle of humanity to sustain them coming in. It was a sorry lot compared to the older ones that came to full term, the infants leaving an emaciated husk behind them. The white silks dried out centuries ago, yellowing and curling at the edges like parchment. As Quelaag reached the height of the tower and crept into her antechamber, she passed one clutch still glistening with fresh, moist webbing as they silently teemed with anemic, but living mites.

Quelaag tried in vain to enjoy the satisfying emptiness within her, though it would only be a month or two before she was filled with young again. That was, after all, her sacred duty. 

In Izalith, fertility was something more rare and precious than gold, gemstones, and pyromancy. Demons were artificial creations, and artificial souls could not procreate, that was the way of things. Well, not without the assistance of beings with either a Lord Soul or Humanity sprite, the Chaos balancing precariously between the two extremities and able to thrive on either.  
The Chaos Witch was vigilant for fresh meat, but found herself alone in the main chamber. She stayed in place, time meaningless to her as she waited.

No matter how many times they died, the fanatical undead of the surface world threw themselves at her thinking they would eventually prevail, and that was after passing the hoards of Blighttown and waves of Red Phantoms fighting over the honor of slaying for Izalith. There were slow periods, but eventually another group of sheep arrived to jump on the pyre without fail.  
Soon enough, in the momentary quiet, Quelaag found herself pulled back into her thoughts.

She did her best to stay focused and motivated, but with Quelaan’s flame wavering on the edge of extinguishment; the rigid, stillborn eggs rending her insides while the blightpus pushed her beyond endurance, it became harder to ignore these feelings. Quelaag, despite having vigor to spare, was plagued by her duty while tending Quelaan every hour.  
To eternally grow fat with young, to eternally crave the souls of Humanity to feed them, to know the pangs of birth without the embrace of a lover or husband...  
The Daughter of Chaos tried to shake it from her head. She was still a goddess of Izalith. Her brood helped win the war when the Great Lord tried to stamp them out. Her spark gave birth to thousands of unique lifeforms. Honor and respect followed her every step in the city streets.

...But where was the value in that? She loathed it. She loathed the indignity of being little more than a broodmare at this point. Seeing Quelaan’s conscience burdened with the inability to fulfill her duty reflected on Quelaag, and made her detest it even more. The homely Eingyi must have caught on to Quelaag’s malcontent, as he persuaded more hollows to host her grubs for her. But whatever weight was taken from her shoulders was only heaped on her sense of horror and regret, seeing the frail humans suffering many times more than she.

Despite their misguided acts of selflessness, she began to hate humanity more than anything else. It was their fault her sister was crippled. It was their fault Gwyn was lured down there on a crusade of extermination when Izalith’s influence on the surface was too great for his liking. It was their fault Quelaag’s mother lost her mind and became a thrall to her parasite, the ensuing outcry causing untold destruction to both the landscape and culture of Izalith. And yet, despite all their sins, everything they took from her, she needed humans.

Perhaps Quelana was right. Perhaps, in the flames of her passionate youth, Quelaag made a terrible mistake. At the time she defended her covenant, but she never forgot the sheer disgust and anger in Quelana’s eyes as she expressed her shame at being a Daughter of Chaos, and walked away.

The Daughter of Chaos never learned what happened to her. Many assumed she was dead, but Quelaag didn’t believe it, not for an instant. Quelana was a prodigy beyond all peers; more than dabble with the fire arts she defined modern pyromancy and created every fundament of its study and practice. The notion Quelana was killed by anything short of a full-blooded lord was incomprehensible, and her sister wasn’t stupid enough to place herself in that kind of position.

Quelaag felt a soreness in her chest thinking about Quelana’s absence. Everything was gone, nothing made sense anymore. She never felt more lost.  
She continued to wait. Hoping that an article of prey would wander in, give her something to feed her sister. A semblance of a thrill, to break through the haze. Something, anything to turn her eye from her squalid musings.

Something did come, but it was not entirely what she expected.

The air shimmered like a curtain of mist, the illusion falling away to reveal a tall, pale figure. She wore a heavy fur dress that wrapped around her body in several sheets, the light grey accenting her snow-white hair and face. Her large, murky green eyes were squinted in the hot, dry air below two sets of three bony spurs and a patch of white fur on her forehead. Quelaag warmed at her coming.  
“Welcome back.” Quelaag greeted, her legs clicking as she walked to Priscilla.

“Greetings.” Priscilla responded, her voice remarkably soft for a creature that towered over the Chaos Witch, “The realm above has grown quiet.” A pause passed between the two, “I am grateful thou’rt still residing here.”

“I as well, my friend.” The Chaos Witch greeted with a faint smile. The two retired to a side chamber, though Quelaag still listened for any signs of distress as she left her post.

They walked through the scarcely identifiable ruins buried in dirt and eggs. Long ago, it was a grand palace of stone that served as the entrance to Izalith, the boots of many Lords treading through these halls. At the zenith of the age of fire, the “Great Lord” sent down a tremendous iron bell, which could be tolled whenever they wanted Izalith to know visitors from beyond wished to enter their great city.  
It was a sign of peace, now perverted into a prize for aspiring undead who wanted to prove their worthiness to the fleeing lords. Of course, even in the weariness of her ancient age, the Daughter of Chaos turned all trespassers to ashes and claimed their souls for Izalith, though that never stopped them from sending progressively more determined champions.

Even with such degradation, the wing Quelaag chose was far enough from the creeping vines and molten rock of the nursery of chaos to retain a shadow of its old glory, though it spent most days in tomblike silence. The polished beige sandstone was faded to a soot grey and many great artworks and sculptures were outright lost, but even still there was an unmistakable air of glory. Statues depicting their most esteemed demons loomed over Quelaag like sentinels, silhouetted by the ethereal scarlet glow outside. The carved walls still bore many priceless engravings, the vaulted ceilings tall and wide, with sweeping arches and masonry that could only be accomplished by the hands of beings as great as the demons.

It was a vain gesture to welcome Priscilla into the vacant common room after the first few visits, the living space empty until Quelaag shambled together what she could, but it was too humiliating to speak to the crossbreed in the middle of Quelaag’s filthy nursery.

It was hard telling how many meetings they held here, or when Priscilla first came into her life. She yearned for something her worshippers couldn’t give her, and in her wonderings, stumbled upon this equally unwanted and alien thing.

Priscilla and the witch gathered around a dusty stone table and set a basket she’d taken from the surface upon it. Everytime Priscilla returned with nourishment and niceties, such as a priceless urn from Anor Londo now decorating their table, Quelaag almost brought herself to care their treat for the afternoon was stolen, but whoever missed it was hollow, dead, or a murderer set on exterminating hollows and things like crossbreeds and chaos demons anyhow, so she accepted whatever Priscilla brought. Quelaag was confused for a moment when Priscilla produced several articles. Fresh yellow fruits, sugar, and a few skins of water.

“Sugar and raw fruit?” Quelaag mused.

“Mine eyes spied men brewing a drink from these.” She said, “Mine tongue is virgin to its taste. I wished to try it with thee.”

Quelaag held back a smirk. She found the lordly speech of Anor Londo verbose and pretentious… but Priscilla was very cute when she slipped into it.

“I suppose we’ll learn together.”

Priscilla poured the water skins into a few ancient iron cups saved from Izalith. With the water ready, the crossbreed used her sharp fingernails to peel the small fruits in her hands. Juices trailed down her slender fingers as she squeezed the fruits into the cup, afterwards sugaring it and mixing generously.

She passed it over, Quelaag carefully taking it from Priscilla and feeling prickles on her fingertips as her ashen skin brushed the snowy white of Priscilla’s. She watched the crossbreed raise her wet fingers to her mouth, her long, dagger-like tongue darting out and enveloping the appendages as she took them into her mouth and suckled them. When she pulled them out with a faint sigh, the crossbreed ran her tongue around her thin pink lips.

Quelaag caught herself staring and went to her drink, taken aback by the crisp flavor, though it was grainy from the volume of sugar Priscilla poured in it. In her distraction, Quelaag drunk too quickly and inhaled some, spilling it down her front as she coughed violently. She cursed in her native tongue as it dripped into her cleavage and wet her dark red hair.

As Quelaag pulled the sopping locks off her skin and wrung them out, she caught Priscilla’s eye and grew hot with embarrassment, though she couldn’t imagine why since she hadn’t worn a scrap of clothing in a thousand years and the crossbreed never seemed to mind. The witch covered her bare chest with her arms while Priscilla wrung her fingers together and faced the floor.

Several quiet, contemplative moments passed between them, Quelaag feeling a strange anxiety, one somehow deeper and more bothersome than any she felt before. She begun to wonder on the source, until she quietly realized what it had to be.

“Priscilla.” Quelaag uttered quietly, the crossbreed looking up at her.

“What is it? If it was mine indecent gaze, I apologize, I know not what came over me.”

“No, it’s…” Quelaag couldn’t choose her words. Some part of her just couldn’t say… “Priscilla, why have you come here?”

The crossbreed shrugged, rubbing her arm with worry, “To share my troubles, as I always…” she trailed off, losing track.

“I’m grateful for your company but… what keeps drawing you back to Izalith?”

Priscila frowned, “Quelaag, I find thy behavior most queer; thou’rt mine friend.”

Quelaag stumbled, unable to put her mind into words. She turned her face away in shame, “Look at me. Look at my children plastered all across the walls, this accursed beast stuck to my body. I’m not like you. I’m a grotesque beast, a predator. I see the way you stare at me.”

“Quelaag-”

“It’s alright.” The witch said, “I understand your revulsion, but I have to know… is there no one else to take you in? Am I really the only company you find attractive?”

“Quelaag,” Priscilla said, teary eyed, “It wounds me to hear such invective turned against thyself. Thou remain’st a lord, and a sweet-tempered and unprejudiced one at that. Thou’art a product of thy choice to honor thy race and family. Thou possess’th belongingness amongst the demons, but mine hideous body belongth nowhere. I am cursed by an unnatural birth.”

“How could you say that? You are…” Quelaag bit her tongue,

“What am I?” Priscilla said, “Thou may’st make vain attempt to conceal but mine body hath caught your gaze more than once. Thy eyes pick over my every feature like a murder of crows.”  
Quelaag felt shame again, hugging her chest tightly.

“Your skin is fair and soft, your hair the purest white of snow. You don’t belong in this world, surrounded by this.” Quelaag gestured to the ruins of her homeland, the blasted remnants of what was once a proud and mighty nation, “Only those blinded by the deepest depths of ignorance can look upon you and say you are not the loveliest creature in the land. And of your humor, your tongue is soft-spoken and gentle, even to something like me.” Quelaag said, “I inspire terror and revulsion in everything that looks upon me. I was a fair creature once, and I threw it away to be closer to mother. And now it’s come to nothing. Mother is mad, my sisters are dead or dying, and Izalith is a blasted husk of what it once was. So why? What do you see in me that bids you return to Izalith? I know when we rest together…we pretend we are equals. But in the end, it is only play. No matter how much I want to believe it.”

Priscilla crossed the room, her bare feet padding over the dusty rocks, until the crossbreed loomed over her. Quelaag’s skin prickled as the half-dragon laid an icy hand on her shoulder, taking the empty cup from her and setting it on the table to the side. Priscilla knelt down to rest eye-level with Quelaag, the Daughter of Chaos feeling very small as the icy goddess held her shoulders.

“I don’t think it’s a play.” Priscilla said softly, “I have no doubt we are genuine with one another, because our friendship is above any sort of conceit held by the other lords. With our gruesome appearances shared, we can look past them. I tell you… you have a beautiful spirit. I envy your resolve. I have a safe place filled with people who tend to me. Yet, though you have only this infernal realm, you defend yourself courageously. All I do is hide myself away.”

Quelaag’s vision blurred with tears, wanting to doubt Priscilla. Wanting not to raise her spirits only to have them cruelly broken. But she couldn’t.

“I would gladly welcome you to Ariamis.” Priscilla said warmly, “You are not like the other Lords. More than any other, you understand me. I would give anything to keep your company…”

“I can’t.” Quelaag said, surprised to find herself short on breath, “You know I could never…”

Quelaag’s breath became shallow as Priscilla’s face drifted closer, the pyromancer’s chest heaving as her heart raced and her vision became unfocused and distant. 

This strange sensation… Quelaag thought to herself, the feeling eclipsing the rest of her thoughts as she strained forward, grounded by that infernal spider. Priscilla leaned further, the two meeting each other eye to eye, Quelaag drinking Priscilla’s icy breath. The witch’s hands betrayed her control, reaching out to embrace Priscilla behind the cheeks and draw her into contact. The crossbreed uttered a startled yelp as the Chaos Witch pressed her lips to the crossbreed’s, Priscilla’s hands tensing on Quelaag’s shoulders.

In all her years, Quelaag had never shared this sort of gesture. In fact, when she saw it performed by others, she hardly understood the point of such a trite, simple touch of flesh. But now, something overwhelming within her gave it meaning, and for a moment she was lost in it.

Quelaag let go as a jolt of panic ran through her, realizing what she’d just done as she pulled away. The Chaos Witch felt sick, her stomach tensing with worry as she stammered, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Priscilla’s hand was defensively covering her mouth while her eyes were wide open with fear and shock. It was no surprise. The crossbreed strongly reserved her body and was always physically distant. On the occasions Quelaag noted this distance aloud, Priscilla was evasive; even with the trust they shared. She was clearly haunted by something, and Quelaag selfishly threw those reservations aside for a moment of sensual contact.

Quelaag expected her to walk away right then, but instead she came forward cautiously, laced her large hands behind Quelaag’s neck to cradle her head, and returned the gesture. The sensation was different this time. The witch couldn’t wrap her hazy mind around why, but feeling Priscilla return the gesture relieved the stress building in her heart. As she felt more comfortable, so did the crossbreed, and the two drew closer together.

The contact was magnified as they felt each other out, Quelaag running her tongue over Priscilla’s chilled lower lip, her skin like icy, refreshing water. Quelaag’s arms ran over Priscilla’s thick, luxurious furs as she tried to wrap them around the crossbreed’s great frame. The witch was so used to sleeping upright, so used to running her fingers over nothing but the seething rock that made up the spider’s hide, the softness of Priscilla’s winter dress gave her goosebumps. Quelaag’s entire front was kissed by the softness as Priscilla’s chest rubbed against hers, the crossbreed’s hands grasping the Daughter of Chaos’ nape tighter. Quelaag was nervous at first, but felt the discomfort gradually ebb away as she succumbed to the calming embrace of the icy goddess.

The Chaos Witch’s tongue slipped between Priscilla’s lips, drawing a faint yelp from the crossbreed. The shock ebbed as Quelaag explored her a little, afraid of going too fast as she ran her tongue over Priscilla’s. The crossbreed met the gesture once again as her long, reptilian tongue slid over the witch’s. 

The Daughter of Chaos felt like she was drowning, Priscilla’s tongue too great to fit in her mouth as they threaded over each other. Quelaag found it more and more difficult to control herself as her hands rubbed Priscilla’s soft furs. Faint signals of pain were sent up Quelaag’s spine as the crossbreed heavily straddled the demonic spider, the two continuing to drink each other’s kiss.

Priscilla’s face was flushed pink as she leaned back to catch her breath. Clouds of misty ice left her lips with each heave of her breath, her eyes shimmering with the intensity of emotion. Quelaag felt the crossbreed’s hands leave the back of her neck, blood rushing into the sore, bruised skin. The witch realized the half-dragon must be struggling to hold her own self back, and put the faint ache out of her mind as Priscilla clumsily grabbed the underside of her blue-grey undershirt and peeled it up.

Quelaag felt strangled, finally seeing what was beneath the crossbreed’s dress as Priscilla carefully worked the furs over the spurs on her forehead. When the fabric was free, she slid her toned arms from the hide sleeves, setting the top next to her. Priscilla truly had the body of a lord. Her midriff and shoulders were lithe but not soft, her abs and the muscles of her arms firm with good exercise, the result of training from a young age. She was well-endowed with shapely hips and breasts that were round and full, but not overly plump, her tightened nipples a light grey hue. 

Despite being a model of beauty, there were charming imperfections across her body that grounded her. From the collection of silvery scales on her throat, to the faint dusting of pale fur on her arms, legs, and stomach. Her skin had small patches of leather and scales on her extremities and hips, but not enough to mar her soft, tender body, in the same way Quelaag’s mutation did.  
Rather than a tendril of coarse scales and muscle, her tail resembled a wolf’s; thick and bushy, and curling around her legs as she nervously rocked side to side.

Without any malice, Quelaag took comfort in these blemishes. Were she a perfect woman, with a perfect body, it’d be impossible to share this moment without Quelaag comparing herself to Priscilla and being found wanting even more. Somewhere deep down, she believed Priscilla thought the same.

They embraced once more, Priscilla’s icy hands making Quelaag shiver as the crossbreed enveloped her front. The Daughter of Chaos rubbed her stomach, feeling a numbness in her abdomen as her pinky brushed the slurry of her dissolved nethers. Still, she followed Priscilla’s lead and reclined back, allowing her stomach to relax, though the fleshy prison still tugged her a little as she lay on her back. The hide of the spider wasn’t entirely rock, but still rigid and seething hot on her calloused skin, the crossbreed drawing herself into a resting position above her, her locks of ivory hair brushing Quelaag’s face as the icy goddess straddled her.

Priscilla’s fingers came around to rub Quelaag’s shoulder blades, her grip nearly too tight, but the pressure did wonders on her tense muscles. The chaos witch reached up, running her hands over the top of Priscilla’s supple hips, taking in all the smooth contours of her body. Her palms came over a few patches of scales, the Daughter of Chaos rubbing them gently, polishing them with her thumbs.  
Her skin was cold to the touch, with a sheen of sweat running down as Quelaag’s chest pressed against Priscilla’s, the crossbreed’s breasts molding around the witch’s shoulders while her own bosom was lost between them. Every touch felt deeper, more pleasing, and more invigorating than she thought possible, the Daughter of Chaos luxuriating in the icy maiden laying across her.

Quelaag’s hands grew anxious, the chaos witch moving them to Priscilla’s breasts. The crossbreed took a sharp breath as Quelaag’s thumbs brushed across the skin, but didn’t show any overt displeasure. The Daughter of Chaos squeezed them together gently, the chilly skin bulging between her fingers, the endowments squeezing Quelaag’s own as Priscilla pulled the chaos witch closer, uttering a faint murmur of pleasure.

The Daughter of Chaos continued to grope the pair, careful not to apply too much pressure as her palms soaked up their softness. Quelaag felt her focus wane as her baser needs began to take over, her desires spreading until all she could focus on was how perfect Priscilla felt in her hands.

After a moment, Quelaag worked her hands around the front, her thumbs jostling both their nipples. Her chest felt ablaze, Quelaag biting her lower lip as she teased both of them. She continued to run her tongue over her lip, squeezing her eyes closed as she focused on the experience. After several moments, Quelaag craned her head forward a little, peeking between her languid eyelids as she ran her tongue over Priscilla’s skin, laying kisses across the top of her breast.

Priscilla squeezed her tightly, Quelaag’s shoulders cracking as she let up as displeased grunt, the crossbreed immediately relaxing her grip. Priscilla rested a hand below the witch’s neck, burying her fingers in Quelaag’s fiery red hair as she leaned down and tenderly nuzzled the witch’s forehead. When the momentary discomfort passed, Quelaag resumed her pleasing, moving both hands to Priscilla’s right breast and circling it with her palms, drawing skin into her mouth and emitting faint suckling sounds as she went. Priscilla inched forward as the Daughter of Chaos swept her tongue gradually lower, her motions getting more anxious as they progressed.

Soon, Quelaag was at the center of the crossbreed’s breast, running her tongue around Priscilla’s areola. Priscilla nudged the witch slightly, the hard nipple parting Quelaag’s lips as she drew it into her mouth. Quelaag nursed her breast, suckling harder as she flicked the nipple around in her mouth, her head numb as the two women rocked against each other.

Priscilla began to vocalize sounds of pleasure herself, when her nails dug into Quelaag's back and she retreated with a sudden jolt, her palms thrusting onto either side of Quelaag. The sudden movement caused Priscilla to lose her balance and fall onto her back as she reeled away, her eyes fully dilated as she looked up at the witch and shrieked. The crossbreed kicked Quelaag’s spider in the head, a sound like cracking porcelain filling the chamber as the rock split apart and faint chaos fire seeped from the wound. Quelaag clutched her stomach as the pain ran through her spine, her demon lower body wavering back and forth as it retreated in a daze. Priscilla became so manic she lost the ability to move, her toes digging into the ground as she pulled her arms close to her.

Quelaag shook the pain of her injuries and rushed forward, “Priscilla! Priscilla, what’s wrong!”

The crossbreed was completely unresponsive, her movements seizing as tears streamed down her face and she stared at the ceiling. Quelaag could see into Priscilla’s wide green eyes as she leaned over her, but the crossbreed seemed to stare right through the witch with an unfocused gaze, her vocalizations more harrowing than the death screams of Quelaag’s victims.

The Daughter of Chaos gripped her forehead, her own heart racing in panic as she found herself helpless to assist Priscilla, who was trapped in some waking nightmare.

Did I do this? Quelaag thought to herself, trying to conceive a way to reach her lover. She seemed to be enjoying herself so much, yet now she acted like Quelaag was trying to murder her. Worse than that, even those with the trauma of death didn’t react this viscerally, this suddenly.

The room filled with the sounds of Priscilla’s sobbing and the sharp clicking of Quelaag’s many clawed feet as she paced around Priscilla for several minutes, but never left her side, the agonizing outburst seeming to last eternity. At length, Priscilla’s breath slowed down, her teary eyes blinking as they focused on the present. She leaned up, rubbing her forehead and looking at the Daughter of Chaos with sleepy, reddened eyes.

“Are you alright?” Quelaag asked in a low, cautious tone, hoping the crossbreed would answer. Priscilla blinked at her in delirium.

“Quelaag?” Priscilla asked, staring at the smoldering crack in Quelaag’s spider, the wound sending shocks of pain through the witch’s abdomen, “Did I do that?”

“It will heal. Priscilla, did I hurt you?”

The crossbreed shook her head, tears flooding her eyes once again,

“No, of course not. It’s… I’m…”

“What happened?” Quelaag snapped, “I’m sorry. It pains me to see you in such distress. I should not have...”

“No,” Priscilla whimpered, staggering to her feet, wiping her face with the back of her hand, “It’s my fault, I just… I can’t…” She came forward, kneeling down once more and collapsing onto Quelaag’s shoulder heavily, her sobs wracking her body.

The Daughter of Chaos wrapped her arms around Priscilla’s neck, her own tears drifting down her cheeks. All of the guilt, all of the regret, all of her failings. All cascading down her cheeks at once. Quelaag found her demon body resting on the floor, Priscilla’s arm draped around her shoulders while they rested.

For several minutes, the only sound was the cascades of magma in Izalith below, the faint whistling of hot air, and Priscilla’s breathing. The crossbreed’s chill breath on Quelaag’s exposed cheek and chest calmed her, but her mind stormed with worries.

“We indulged our lover’s instinct too quickly.” Quelaag said softly, the dragon’s hand gently rubbing the witch’s stomach.

“I know.” she said, “My passions grew too strong to resist thy touch… but mine weak and transient heart betrayed me twice-fold; to turn hysterical whilst we-” she sobbed, too ashamed to recount their acts just moments ago. Quelaag’s hand rested on Priscilla’s as it continued tracing the witch’s non-existent womb.

“Is this the first time you’ve lain with a woman?”

Priscilla scoffed, a tragic note lingering as she said, “What maiden in his world would part her legs for a perverted deviant, much less a half-blooded cur like me. Hast thou?”

Quelaag shook her head, “If, before I traded my womanhood to become breeding stock in this nursery, some strapping young miss swept me from my feet and into the throes of wild passion… I do not recall.”

Priscilla reached her other hand around Quelaag, leaning into her, “Thou art stricken with denial, but mine eye sees a fine maiden in thee.” She let go, shifting back to Quelaag’s front. Her cheeks were bright red and slightly puffy, like roses on fallen snow. The crossbreed averted her gaze, clumsily loosening the straps on her skirt, until she was finally able to free it from her hips and let the furs fall on her bare feet. The witch covered her mouth with the back of her hand, her heart fluttering with renewed fury in her bosom. She found her lusty eyes affixed to Priscilla’s womanhood, her albino hairs slick with arousal. Quelaag didn’t know she was that excited, but in the arid glow of Izalith, the witch could see the light reflecting off Priscilla’s wet inner thighs.

“Are you sure you want… this?”

Priscilla turned to look Quelaag firmly in the eyes, her emerald irises more alive than before, “I-” she hesitated, “My soul is overburdened by the past, and choking whatever passions find me, but if nothing else, I want this moment with you.”

She knelt down, laying a kiss on Quelaag’s cheek that struck her harder than Gwyn’s sunlight spears, leaning in closer and whispering, “Make love to me.”

Quelaag was shaking. It was something she dreamt of, yearned for, but to hear it spoken so plainly was hard to grapple with.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Priscilla laughed a small, genuine laugh, “Me neither. We will- I suppose learn together.”

The Crossbreed got to her feet and slowly retreated back to a short stone divider by Quelaag’s table, boosting herself onto it with her palms and sitting flat on her supple bottom, her feet crossed while she got comfortable. The position brought the crossbreed’s womanhood more or less face-level with Quelaag, causing her forgotten sense of modesty to come back to her as she cautiously closed the distance between them.

Sadly, the lewd thoughts overwhelming her mind were only a part of it.

Seeing Priscilla’s legs open to reveal her womanhood in all its fullness reminded Quelaag of what she lost… and that she hadn’t handled anyone’s womanhood, even her own, in a very long time.

Granted… she found other ways to reach climax when the need was dire enough, but those times were out of desperation for release, not the passion of intimacy. Quelaag hoped Priscilla wouldn’t be disappointed by her inexperience as she rubbed the sweaty interior of the crossbreed’s thighs, her eyes locked on the crossbreed’s wet nethers as she decided where to start. The witch was surprised to see her arousal already soaking the majority of her groin, faintly trailing down her legs and dampening her seat. She wondered how long Priscilla was anticipating this and if her skirt concealed this sight more than once before. A thought Quelaag would’ve found most improper until now.

Quelaag’s hands migrated to Priscilla’s crotch, her thumbs rubbing circles along the creases where her legs met the hips; brushing near but quite touching her twitching labia. The witch felt the tight muscles shift under her fingers, Priscilla’s breathing getting deeper as she rocked back and forth on her perch. Quelaag leaned in closer, her eyes squinting as she breathed in the crossbreed’s musky scent, her fingers brushing over the crossbreed’s soft lower hairs. Despite the indecency, Quelaag felt the strong urge to…

Quelaag looked to Priscilla’s face, the crossbreed looking down at her with an expression the witch couldn’t begin to describe, but it made it feel all the more erotic and encouraged her to continue. Quelaag massaged around Priscilla’s waist as far as her fingers would reach, tracing around Priscilla’s buttocks and back over the legs. Her hands went along the interior of the thigh again, brushing through Priscilla’s crotch and applying light pressure around her intimate space with her thumbs, before passing between her legs and butt once more.

The witch was happy to feel Priscilla relax as she enjoyed the close attention. After a few minutes of stroking, the crossbreed breathed, “Thy hands are ecstacy fair Quelaag, but- thou art cruel to tease mine senses so.”

Quelaag looked up, a faint smirk peaking through her lips, “As you want it.”

The witch raised her right hand, pushing the flat of her nails against the folds, such that one of her fingers dipped in slightly. A shiver went up Priscilla’s entire body as Quelaag lightly drug her hand from the bottom to the top, the crossbreed’s bushy tail slapping Quelaag’s arm as it swished with excitement. The witch gently took the tail in her free hand, wrapping it around her neck and nuzzling the furs with her cheek, the softness a luxury beyond compare as she continued her stroking.

Quelaag’s hand was soon soaked with Priscilla’s juices, her slick fingers slipping more and more into the crossbreed’s opening as Priscilla’s muscles spasmed rhythmically, seeming to draw Quelaag’s appendages in as the surface tightened around her fingertips, relaxed to allow her further ingress, then pulled tight again. The witch lost track of time, basking in the crossbreed’s ecstasy and feeling contented with her work, though the tempest in her bosom demanded more.

The sentiment was shared by Priscilla as she gently took Quelaag’s hand, guiding it to the top of her labia before letting go and parting her folds with her fingers. With her lips spread open, Quelaag could see a large lump of swollen flesh. It was engorged with blood, protruding from the soft pink walls surrounding it like a rosebud.

The witch slapped herself inwardly for forgetting the anatomy of the fairer sex and rewarded the crossbreed’s lesson. She removed her hand from the tail draped around her neck, placing a hand on either side and squeezing Priscilla’s clitoris between her thumbs, her hands working back and forth to knead the flesh. The crossbreed began to vocalize, the heel of her foot scraping the wall as she worked to calm herself. Quelaag returned to using one hand after a minute, using the tip of her dominant thumb to toy with the marvelous thing. With every press and push, Priscilla grew more aroused, rocking in place and humming with pleasure.

The Daughter of Chaos flinched at something on the back of her head, before she realized it was Priscilla's hand nudging Quelaag’s face towards her crotch.

“I hate to impose- but could you-” Priscilla stammered shyly. Quelaag nodded, lowering herself into the icy dragon’s lap. The witch could only see the crossbreed’s pale skin as her eyes squinted, the witch feeling around with her tongue. A small part of Quelaag was unsure of the foreign taste entering her mouth as she lapped at Priscilla’s womanhood, but with her heart pounding in her head and the haze of arousal sweeping everything aside, she readily forgot the discomfort.

Her blushed lips settled around Priscilla’s clitoris, the crossbreed drawing a sharp breath as Quelaag drew it into her mouth with a light suckle. The witch was reminded of nursing an open wound, lightly kneading the base of the skin with her teeth while being as gentle as she could. Priscilla’s hand pressed down on the back of Quelaag’s head as she moaned, “Yes, there.”

Quelaag’s lips moved with her face as she went at the spot from different angles, her tongue wrapping around the nub of muscle while she sucked it gently from side to side. The witch herself started uttering lewd slurping noises, slightly muffled by her position as she breathed roughly through her flared nostrils. She backed off a moment to take a few deep breaths, the air feeling chill on her moist lips. An idea came into her head as she breathed on Priscilla’s crotch, her eyes rising up Priscilla's quivering body until she was meeting her eyes once more.

Priscilla’s face was aglow with pleasure, the crossbreed wiping faint trails of drool from her lips as her shimmering green eyes gazed into Quelaag’s,  
“Quelaag,” she sighed, “I love you.”

The witch tried to catch her breath, “And I... love you.”

“I’ve never enjoyed company like this.”

Quelaag grew anxious and went back to Priscilla’s lap, drawing in a great breath, tucking down, and blowing deeply into Priscilla’s opening. The crossbreed gasped, Quelaag nearly taking a knee to her face as Priscilla’s leg shot up, twitching as though a wasp landed upon it. Priscilla braced her hands on her thighs, trying to keep herself from folding closed under the pressure as Quelaag continued eating at her.

Priscilla’s breathing became erratic, Quelaag leaning back and observing the spasms through the crossbreed’s stomach as her muscles tightened. Her toes curled while her heels dug into her perch, one final gasp leaving the crossbreed’s lips before she released a loud moan alongside all the tension in her body. Priscilla came harder than Quelaag expected, her womanly essence spattering the witch’s chest while she rocked up and down with climax, her breath a little short from the intensity of the experience.

Priscilla recovered, a smile spread on her lips while Quelaag herself brimmed with excitement. The crossbreed’s eyes held a tint of shame as she said, “I’m sorry if I became too overwhelmed for you.”

“Don’t.” Quelaag said, panting. “It was a pleasure well-needed. For both of us.”

Priscilla was still blushing, her hand moving to her sopping crotch and applying pressure, as though trying to hold back a flood.

Quelaag wondered if she was too greedy in wanting, but said, “My- ah - my body still prickles with heat. Would I impose to caress you further? Every moment I spend pleasing you is like...” The witch lost her mind, Priscilla nodding.

“I too have vigor to spare. Thou- hast not even peaked.” she noted.

Quelaag frowned, the words drawing her attention to how badly her entire being ached. Even the wind brushing past her rigid nipples made her chest feel like an angry hive of wasps.  
“I shall remedy this.”

Quelaag’s hand approached Priscilla once again, deciding to test her limits, since the crossbreed already came once to her touching. She laid her thumb across Priscilla’s clitoris, dipping her pointer and middle fingers into her and slowly rubbing her moist walls. Quelaag’s face felt tingly as she worked the intruding appendages around in her lover, the sensation of being inside her even a little making her heart skip beats. The crossbreed let out an uncomfortable grunt, Quelaag’s eyes locked on Priscilla’s face, “Is this alright?”

Priscilla took a moment to answer, shifting in place and grappling with some unpleasant memory, before nodding, “Yes… please.”

Accepting, Quelaag slid her other two fingers in equally slowly, forming a sort of bridge between Priscilla’s surface and her depths as she squeezed and tugged, rubbing all the sensitive flesh in her grasp with deliberate, careful treatment. The witch was almost surprised all her fingers would fit, but everything about Priscilla was massive to her, and it helped everything was slick as the mucous of an eel.

She kneaded the flesh for a short time, preparing herself and Priscilla for when she took the plunge.

Quelaag drew out, uniting her thumb with the rest of her hand and forming a sort of scoop. She parted Priscilla’s lips and pushed her hand up the wrist with fair resistance, the muscles inside the crossbreed equalling those on the rest of her as it clamped down on the intruding body.

Priscilla grunted, but swayed her hips forward, grinding against Quelaag’s arm to draw her deeper. The witch happily obliged, working her hand back and forth inside Priscilla’s womanhood, pushing a little further each time it settled around her. Soon, Quelaag was near halfway down her forearm, daring not push further at the risk of harming something.

She put her shoulder into pumping long, rhythmic presses into Priscilla, the crossbreed growing very noisy. Quelaag was swept up in the warm, soft tunnel around her arm and the moisture coating her skin. The smell of it, the feel of it, everything was perfect.

The witch looked up to her lover, holding her eyes while her arm worked on it’s own accord. Quelaag drank in her soft, green eyes, her expression of pure bliss and love, the blush on her perfect cheeks and the affectionate, half-open smile on her lips, lips Quelaag had the pleasure of kissing not long ago.

The witch moved her hand to her breast, giving it a firm squeeze while jostling it. The intimacy of the moment heightened her sense of pleasure as she stimulated herself, Quelaag stroking her nipple as she massaged her bosom and imagined how it must have felt to Priscilla earlier. The crossbreed watched this with interest, her figure growing fuzzy as Quelaag’s eyes dilated with intensity. Priscilla eventually reached down to Quelaag’s shoulder, brushing the witch’s cheek with her thumb while the daughter of chaos continued working her hand within the crossbreed’s womanhood.

Quelaag’s chest started to feel tight as she settled into a rhythm, her strokes getting progressively quicker, faint trails of spit living her parted lips as her breath drew short and her spidery legs tapped impatiently on the ground. Priscilla watched all these signs of arousal, her nethers clamping down on Quelaag’s arm as she was rocked by another spasm, her voice crying out in climax while her emerald eyes squinted closed.

Quelaag’s resistance faltered, her grip tightening almost painfully on her sensitive bosom as shocks of pleasure radiated through her spine. Her legs twitched every which way, her midriff shaking as a sensation she never conceived cut her breath short and sent her blood roaring in her ears. She wasn’t even the recipient of the contact, but felt some deep, neglected part of herself fulfilled.  
They rode each other’s affections with an almost manic fervor, until they both laid on the ground exhausted.

Quelaag released a contented moan as Priscilla laid a kiss on her cheek and cuddled up to her, the witch’s body resting on the ground while Priscilla rested on her knees. For a few minutes, they just relaxed there on the stones, basking in each other’s warmth while they caught their breath. Priscilla was the first to speak, almost whispering, “I hadn’t the courage to say it, but I’ve wanted this a long time.”

“Me too.” Quelaag said, “You’ve been invading my dreams since I met you. Though that does not compare to feeling you here.”

“There aren't many places we two can belong.”

“You’ll always belong with me.”

Priscilla tightened her grip on Quelaag, squeezing her gently, “I can see that clearly,”

Quelaag laughed, nuzzling Priscilla back. Still, the Daughter of Chaos was blighted by a pressing issue, “I need a bath.”

“Are you that ashamed?”

“No!” Quelaag giggled, “I mean I really need a bath, and so do you.”

Priscilla took a step back to inspect Quelaag, and grimaced when she realized the witch was right. The two were covered with sweat and other unmentionables, especially Quelaag, and in the heat of the underground it’d become pungent indeed. Volcanic ash and soot was settling on them both, maring their skins with blotches of soot and grime. Priscilla’s bare feet and knees were covered with black streaks, and Quelaag’s hair was stuck to her face in various spots, completely unkempt and streaked with fluids.

“Oh…” Priscilla said, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine!” Quelaag said, “I’ll show you to the bathing room.”

“That would please me. To clean up.” Priscilla added, getting up and following Quelaag down the hall, “I’ve never been this filthy before.” She mumbled, her hands anxiously brushing the dust off her nethers.

“I believe that goes without saying."


End file.
